Captain Jack
by EstelWolfe
Summary: Jack Sparrow finds himself being compared to a Captain Jack of a different time and place when he runs into Dr. Stephen Maturin. crossover with Master and Commander, one-shot that could possibly grow


Disclaimer:  Pirates belong to a member of the family rodentia.  All non-pirates that appear belong to Patrick O'Brian.

AN:  This was originally written for a crossover challenge of 500 words on The Black Pearl Sails fanfiction group at Yahoo (a most ingenious, extremely talented crew resides there and tolerates me… go check it out if you're interested), but as you can see it quite exceeded the word limit.  Thing is, Jaraen, my infernal muse, is wishing to make this into a real story.  So, simple question: WOULD ANYBODY BE INTERESTED IN SEEING THIS AS A FULL-FLEDGED STORY?  It wouldn't mean abandoning any of my others, either, which are simply on hold for two weeks until summer break, when I'll have uninterrupted writing time to devote to completing them well.  grins at thought of that blissful time

**Captain Jack**

**Part 1 of 1**

Blood.  He noticed the blood even before he saw the seaman that kept Jack upright… the seaman who was also coated in blood.

Jack's blood.

The panic didn't come then.  He had seen Jack nearly bleed to death before, the stubborn fool swimming a tow line between the two ships that he controlled, spewing his lifeblood into the Mediterranean, refusing helping hands until after he had seen the _Polychrest_, already gutted by the French carronades by the time she was towed away, sink to her final rest at the bottom of the sea.

No, the panic began sometime later, the first whispers touching his heart when he found blue eyes focusing on his face not a half-hour after they had initially closed.  Some patients wove in and out of consciousness, but Stephen had treated Jack enough times to know that when he collapsed it was the final statement.  There were no more reserves of strength left for him to draw from.

From whence, then, came the strength to power the ragged voice, a voice nearly drowned by the cries of the uninjured as they organized repairs?

"Stephen… soul…"

"Hush, joy.  All is well.  The _Surprise _has taken the privateer and the merchants without much damage, and you'll be fine."

"No… Stephen… don't understand… too bad…"

It had only taken a firm grip to control the questing hands, a few gently murmured phrases to dim the light in those bright eyes and send Jack back to the unfeeling numbness of unconsciousness.

He would have expected the panic to bloom fully as the blood flowed freely from the edges of the table, unhampered by all his attempts to halt it.  He would have expected the growing weakness and frantic speed of the pulse that he monitored to start the fiery flow through his veins.  If nothing else, then the loss of that pulsing life should have brought the panic.

Instead there had been a cool, detached professionalism to the entire affair, a detached professionalism that remained as he worked his swift and near-silent way through the rest of the injured, a mask of calm that managed to hide the pain even from his own heart for hours.

It wasn't until he announced the death of Captain Jack Aubrey to Thomas Pullings, giving full responsibility for both the _Surprise_ and her prize ships to the younger man, that the first hints of trembling appeared in both voice and body.

It wasn't until Pullings left, his face now the frozen mask that Stephen Maturin had discarded, that the panic came in swift waves, freezing breath and limb as pictures of life in the service, both in intelligence and the regular navy, flitted through his mind faster than thought could identify them.  Each was stamped indelibly with Jack's print, even when seas separated them.

And it wasn't until the watch bell had struck a half-dozen times that he was able to fight his way through the panic to the darkest heart of his grief, a grief that seemed destined to tear him limb from limb, the sobs that he muffled with moderate success providing precious little outlet for the pain of having his spirit torn asunder.

The shifting surge of boisterous, highly-inebriated sailors on shore leave gave Jack just enough warning to lift his mug off the table before a slim figure was catapulted half onto it.  When it seemed no-one would be coming after him, the man shifted slowly down onto the seat across from Jack's, his head hanging low the entire time, groaning slightly as he shifted his right arm, the one that he had landed on.

Jack waited in silence, studying the man across from him.  The man's clothing was uniformly dark and worn, his features pale, though they showed signs of being touched by the sun before.  A short, untidy mass of dark hair capped his head, though the length made it likely that he wore a wig at least some of the time.

"It's as if they react adversely to the removal of the threat of death.  Finding themselves no longer in peril of being sent to their Maker by way of splinters or drowning, they have to attempt to bludgeon each other to death.  I will never understand seamen.  Never."  The slim man seemed to be talking to himself as he ran his left hand slowly along his right arm, apparently feeling for breaks.

"Wait 'til closing time and the worst you'll find is a black eye, maybe a few teeth lost.  They're not a bad crowd.  Just a lively one.  'Sides, you can always leave.  No sign says landsmen need to come here."  Jack felt himself bound to defend his profession, at least to some degree, but he didn't really feel like wasting a good night arguing with someone who already had his mind set.

"I apologize, sir.  I meant no ill intent to you or yours, and I have known some good seaman… very good men, on or off a ship."  The man paused, eyes still downcast, clenching his hand into a fist.  "And I watched the two best die."

Jack nodded, sighing inwardly and catching one of the serving wenches to request two more drinks.  Death always brought out the worst in a man.  Drink couldn't cure the hurt, but it could at least dull it and bring a solid night's sleep.

As for what an apparently well-bred man, at least in speech if not in clothing, was doing in a less-then-respectable tavern… The man was drowning the memory of a sailor, and Jack knew better than most that some griefs were simply too strong to share with friends or acquaintances, with anyone who could try, through simple camaraderie, to twist the solid images and memories you had to something else.  Lord knew it had been a stranger that sat and stoically ignored his ramblings about the Pearl and about Bootstrap when the news of what had happened and, more importantly, why it had happened finally caught up to him.

"-shouldn't be bothering you.  I think I shall take my leave…"  The stranger half-stood, unsteady and deathly pale, eyes still downcast, giving Jack the distinct impression that he had already been hard at his memory-drowning quest.

"You're not a bother, mate.  Have a drink.  It's unlikely any o' my mates'll be waltzing back anytime soon."

"I fear I'll be rather poor company."  Despite his words, the man still sat and reached out a shaky left hand for the drink, frowning darkly and clenching his fist when he noticed the trembling.

"I'm not always considered good company, m'self.  You have a name, friend?"

"Stephen."  The answer was a barely-discernable mumble as the man, apparently satisfied that the trembling had ceased, grabbed his drink and downed a sizeable portion in a single gulp, only a faint grimace giving away the fact that his tongue was used to better brews.

"Where're you from and where bound?"  Jack nursed his own drink, keeping a small portion of his mind always on the melee in the center of the tavern, wary of danger.

"From purgatory and bound to a hell I only ever half-believed in."  The faint laugh that accompanied the statement might as well have been a sob.  It took a moment for Stephen to regain complete control of his voice, but when he did there was a coolness to it that sent a shiver crawling up and down Jack's spine.  "Would you believe me if I said I was from a hundred years in the future, and that the best reason I can think of for my being here is as a punishment for letting my captain and best friend die?  Or maybe just for telling him that he would live, for forcing him to believe it when we both knew I was lying.  Or mayhap this is all a self-created hell, and I'm locked in chains somewhere, the crew murmuring about the poor doctor and finding some superstition or biblical passage to describe how I brought this on myself."

Pointedly looking away from the grieving, angry man across from him, Jack tried to remember exactly what he had told the stranger who suffered through his litany of loss all those years ago.  Whatever he had said, he was fairly certain it didn't involve time travel.  Mutiny, self-doubt, disgust, anger, oh yes, anger, fury… but not time-travel.

"And now you certainly think I'm mad.  I thank you for your kindness, but I think I really shall take my leave now."

Again Stephen half-stood, but this time it was Jack's hand on his arm that halted his movement.  "Stay, mate.  I've heard and spoken crazier, and a man who's grievin' has the right to say anythin' he wants."

For a moment Stephen just stood, staring as though in incomprehension at the hand on his arm before speaking softly and clearly.  "_Stay, soul_.  I should have left the sea and all it's insanity long ago had he not told me that… and then followed with a threat to hunt me down for breaking naval law should I choose to run.  He found it humorous."  From the small smile playing across his mouth, so did Stephen, at least in retrospect.

"You were good friends?"  Jack released his hold on the man's arm, content that he wouldn't run off and get himself killed in the near future.

"The best.  Not a good beginning… in fact, a rather bad beginning, my elbowing him in the ribs… but after that…"  Stephen sighed and finished the rest of his drink in a single long draught that showed little ease but great determination.  "I should have seen it coming.  Naval men don't live that long, especially ones that make as many enemies as quickly as he did.  I don't even remember the number of times I've put him back together now… there was the incident with the bear skin, trying to run from Napoleon…"

"Napoleon?"

Stephen continued as though Jack hadn't made a sound.  "All the battles at sea… I must have sewn his ears back on at least a dozen times… but I still never saw this coming.  I watched men die, good men and bad… I watched James die and didn't flinch… but I never saw this coming.  I study the men I work with, the men dearest to my heart, I claim to study my own heart… and yet I am unprepared for this, the most likely outcome of all.  Or it would have been the most likely, save for the fact that I'm currently in a time and place that is quite simply impossible."

"Whether you try t' see it or not, losin' a friend is losin' a piece of your heart.  No science or religion can tell you how much that'll hurt."  As a pirate, Jack knew the bitter truth of that statement, having seen far too many friends and acquaintances ushered to a bloody end and a watery grave.

Stephen was silent for a moment, tilting his now-empty cup.  When he spoke again, he still addressed a spot on the table in front of Jack, his head bowed like it had been since the moment the pirate met him, as though he shouldered a weight too great for his slight frame to support.  "Once again, I thank you for your kindness, sir, and for your candor and patience.  I am certainly not being so civil and ingenious as your conduct would ask, and I fear I forgot to inquire after your name."

The pirate captain smiled and spread his hands wide, grinning as he introduced himself.  He had never been shy about sharing his name, and having the _Pearl_ back in his control just made every introduction all the sweeter.  "You've been enjoying the company of Captain Jack—"

Stephen sat bolt upright, his eyes ripping up and to Jack's face as he paled even more before slumping down onto the table.

"Sparrow."  Jack studied his companion for a moment, having been completely unprepared for that reaction.  "And apparently I'm still very well-known a hundred years in the future."

_Several Weeks Later_

Stephen stood silently at the rail, studying the stars, attempting to find the constellations that Jack—_his_ Jack—had pointed out to him time and time again over the years in a fruitless attempt to turn him into something remotely resembling a seaman.  Finding none that immediately struck a familiar chord he turned instead to the darkness of the water, to the life it nurtured, the life that he could categorize and classify and understand, all hidden now by the night.

He would quite gladly have traded his soul for his journals these past few weeks, had he not already offered it for something far dearer to his heart and been rejected.

"Stephen."

"Captain Sparrow."  Stephen didn't turn at the quiet voice, wary of the reception he would find.  His skills as a doctor had earned him a large amount of respect in his own time, as had his knowledge of natural philosophy, but what had been exceptional medical successes in 1800 was quite close to miraculous in these times.

"You're thinking about him, aren't you?  Your captain?"

The surgeon turned to face the pirate captain, purposefully looking into his face.  It was far easier to separate Jack Sparrow from Jack Aubrey when confronted with the pirate's dark looks, especially when the one read him as easily and as quickly as the other had at most times.

"You did a fine job today, puttin' my crew back together.  You used medicine like I've not seen or heard of, on land or at sea."

"So you finally believe me, then?"

"I always believed you'd lost a close mate… but you might be swayin' me into believin' you're from the future."  The pirate captain grinned, falling silent for a moment.  "What's it like?"

"Different.  The same.  We know more about the human body, more about the natural world, but sailing… that hasn't changed much at all.  It seems I'm still forgetting the same things here that I forgot at home.  Jack never understood why I had so much trouble remembering what everything is or what everything meant.  When he discovered that words didn't work, he'd draw pictures, of ships, of wind currents that gave someone the weather gauge… he just never gave up on me at least learning to talk like a seaman."

"So that's why you hit the deck… or table, to be more precise.  For a while you had me wonderin' if I sink a ship full of orphans or something similar sometime in the future."

It took Stephen a puzzled moment to remember their first introduction, but when he did it brought the hint of a smile to his face.  "Ah, yes.  His name was Captain Jack Aubrey.  I was hardly at my best, and your name caught me… a bit by surprise.  You remind me far too much of him, you know… far too much like what he could have become."

"Me?  I remind you of an English Captain?  Not sure if I should take exception to that, mate."

"No, you do.  When he was first made commander, I described his nature as piratical.  He was certainly never overly attentive to authority in his youth… he loved women… he was ingenious… he could read people, at least politicians and seaman… he fell in love with a ship…"

"You're sure you're talkin' about the future and not some honor-bound twin of mine?"  Jack's laughter died away quickly, finding itself only accompanied by a weak, forced smile from Stephen.

"He was also blond and built like a bear... and he changed, as he got older.  Not really for better or worse, but he did change.  Some of the fire died, or redirected itself into his zeal for King and country.  He became more like Nelson, though he still stayed Jack.  I don't have the words to describe him or what I mean.  You would have had to know him."  Stephen turned away, unable to bear watching the pirate captain try to piece together a picture of the man that had been one of the most well-fixed axis around which Stephen's world turned for many years.

"I know it doesn't mean anything, but I'm sorry for your loss.  What do you mean to do now?  You're welcome to stay on the _Pearl_.  Half the men are convinced you're some kind o' saint, a touch-healer, and none of them'd object to you staying on."

"I'd like to try to find a way home, but barring that… I would very much like to stay aboard the _Pearl_, if you'd have me."

"I'm willin' to have you if you're willin' to work a pirate ship.  Awful big difference between a pirate ship and any member of the King's Navy."

"Yes.  Your men are here by choice."

"We attack merchant vessels."

"And take the cargo instead of the ship as a prize."

"We fight off the Navy you served."

"I'm Irish-born with Catalan Spanish connections.  I know quite well how to handle conflicting commitments."

"Oh, aye, seems you did.  Handled it by givin' your loyalty in the end t' a man instead of a country."

Stephen stiffened abruptly, opening his mouth to protest.

"Not that I'm sayin' there's anything wrong with that.  It's just good to know where a man's loyalty lies."

The doctor didn't answer, his head once again drooping down, the grief and pain that had been swallowed in confusion and simple survival these past weeks again welling up in his heart.

"Maybe it'd be better if we just found a way to get you home, Esteban."

Laughing low in his throat to cover a moan, the doctor shook his head.  "My home fractured into a million pieces before I left it, Jacques."

Silence stretched across the deck, and Stephen closed his eyes, listening to the sound of the waves against the ship and the constant tone of the rigging—just a tad sharp of a C at the moment—his mind swiftly conjuring up Mozart and Corelli violin/'cello duets.

"You said your _Surprise_ was taking some prize ships when your captain met with his… untimely demise."

A brief nod was all the answer that Stephen gave, his fingers now moving in rhythm to the notes that played only for him, plucking strings to add the counterpoint to Jack's brisk melody.

"What if we could find a way t' fix it?"

The suite came to a crashing end as those simple words shattered the spell that Stephen had woven around himself.

"The _Pearl_ would take a fair share of the prize, as is only right.  He can have the ships… just getting one to jump through time is goin' to be tricky enough… but I'd definitely want my share of the profits, and so would my crew."

"Could we do that?  I mean, it's already happened…"

"Only for you.  For me it's something that my great-grandkids would see."

The sudden wild beating of his heart caused Stephen to gasp out loud, almost believing that he was about to suffer heart failure.  "Would you, if we can?"

"Pass up a chance at treasure when you'll know the enemies strengths and weaknesses before even startin', and when you know that you've got another good strong ship and captain on your side?  What kind of self-respecting pirate would do that?"

Jack's grin was infectious, and Stephen found himself just barely containing the urge to begin frolicking around the deck like one of the ship's boys from the _Surprise_, lost in near-ecstasy as the bittersweet scent of hope filled his entire being for the first time in weeks.


End file.
